Origins

by J. F. Holmes

  Gravely André replied, “Very good, sir. It may well be that we march to a fight. The Light Company of the Coldstream Guards have a warehouse on the docks surrounded.”

  Lieutenant Turley, having ridden up during the conversation, asked, “Pardon me for asking sir, but what will eight Marines and a few riflemen do where the mighty Coldstream Guards have failed?”

  André glanced at the young lieutenant and replied in a friendly, paternal tone, “They are good men, Lieutenant, but the Scotsmen are deeply religious. Their blood turned to water after they’d lost the first seven men to the beasts. The rest fled, convinced they faced the demons of hell.” The young Englishman shook his head sadly. “Brave men who’d faced the worst the cannonades and musketry the French could throw at them, without flinching or breaking, turned tail and fled.” He looked back at the Marine officer and added in a firm tone, “They’re holding the perimeter, but cannot be counted on to enter again.”

  “Surely you have other men…”

  André shrugged. “We do, but we’d prefer this be kept quiet. There are also…complicating factors. Factors that require discretion.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “Such as?”

  The man looked at me for a long moment, then sighed and replied, “The warehouse the beasts are roaming in contains, amongst other things, two hundred and fifty barrels of gunpowder destined for New York.” I could see the shock on Lieutenant Turley’s face as this fact registered.

  With a frown, I responded, “Well. That does complicate things, doesn’t it?”

  André replied, “It does, indeed.” We fell into silence as we approached the city.

  Chapter Four

  “Gunpowder, Torches and Steel”

  My dearest Abigail,

  Someday, I will tell you the tale of these cursed events. I can’t bring myself to tell you now for fear you will think me mad and my words nonsensical. I scarce believe it myself, and in the days since, I find myself questioning whether we saw what we saw, or if it was a terrible nightmare. I see the visions of the dead when I sleep. When I do wake, I find myself questioning my sanity, but then I see the eyes of the men alongside me, and know that if it be madness I suffer, I am not suffering alone. I see their haunted looks, and know that they saw the madness and terror I witnessed in that warehouse, and the surreal events that followed. Nothing in these two long years of war has shaken me so. I know that, while we oppose the British, we now know there are far greater evils in this world. I must go now; I am being summoned. Give my best to the boys. I miss you all more than I can put into words…

  As we made our way through Philadelphia, I couldn’t help but notice the state of the citizens. They appeared thin and sullen. Most stared at our small column with dull eyes. Some eyed us with hard looks and a few jeers. Others merely regarded us coolly, as if assessing us as a threat. The streets were busy with people going about their business. Here and there could be seen the red coats of the British soldiers, their watchful eyes constantly scanning the crowds.

  I spoke softly aside to the young British officer, “The citizenry seem disaffected. Has it been hard for them?” I watched two young boys make a rude gesture at us, then vanish into an alley. I added, “They seem angry at us.”

  Captain André nodded, eyeing the crowd cautiously. “Aye, it has. The citizens suffered greatly during the siege. The local monies are inflated; goods are scarce, and prices are high. Even the Loyalists who remain chafe under our soldiers patrolling the streets.”

  An anonymous male voice in the crowd cried out, “Go back to the woods, you savages!” Another voice yelled, “Oi! Where’s your fur hats, you Royalist wags?” There was a brief cheer of support and a murmur of angry agreement from the throng of people.

  I looked at André, who shrugged and replied, “The green coats make them think you’re Queen’s Rangers, like as not. We should not disabuse them of the notion. It may give you respite from the Loyalists.”

  With a dry tone, I replied, “And from the Patriots?”

  With a wry smile, André replied, “There aren’t many left in the city, but we’ll try to get you out before they get word to their more…how shall I put this? Their more radical members.”

  Thinking about this, it suddenly came to me. “Ah. The Sons of Liberty.”

  “Precisely so, sir. They’re mostly known to target loyal Englishmen, but aren’t discriminating. If they suspect you’re Queen’s Rangers…” The young man shrugged and fell silent.

  Cautiously watching the sullen crowd as we rode, I thought about this. After a moment, I asked, “I wasn’t aware the Sons had a presence here. Have they been a problem?”

  Shaking his head grimly, André replied, “Not as much now as in the early days. More than a few were tarred and feathered by Loyalist mobs, or thrown in the Market Street Jail by the Tories as the rebel government fled. Others I have…located and arrested. It was a tumultuous several weeks before the city was calm. It took better than a regiment of regulars to regain order. Most of the Sons either fled with the government or went deep underground.” He glanced at me and smiled humorlessly. “We’re telling the people we have rebel spies pinned inside the warehouse. It’s a convenient excuse to hold until we get the ruthless men of the ‘Queen’s Rangers’ here to capture the ‘rebel saboteurs’.” I nodded, silently agreeing with the ruse. It seemed wise.

  We turned a corner and came into view of the State House, with its distinctive red brick exterior marred by guards posted at each door. The distinctive red, white, and blue crosses of the Union Jack waved from the bell tower. I watched in silence as we rode. I could hear Lieutenant Turley muttering something inaudible under his breath.

  André, seeing my gaze, spoke in a harder voice than before, “It’s used now as a hospital for your countrymen. Each time we send a foraging party into the countryside, we take fire. They hide behind fences, rocks, and trees. Each turn in the road conceals another sharpshooter, and each stand of brush another line of concealed militia, ready to volley fire onto our men and flee. Those we capture we keep here, which many feel is far too good for them.” He added as an afterthought, “We send the healthy to the prison ships, as is fitting of traitors to the Crown.” He indicated the State House and added in a reproachful tone, “Civilized men would capitulate when their capital falls. Civilized men would also stand and fight.”

  Gently I rebuked the young officer, “Now, sir, that is an unfair accusation. We stand and fight. We fought at Bunker Hill, as well as Germantown and Brandywine. We stand when we must.”

  With a slight nod of his head, André replied, “Indeed they were, sir. I don’t need to tell you how those turned out. Surely you can see the folly of this foolish war?”

  Gravely I replied, “Were we afforded the rights and protections of every other Englishmen, I would agree. But we are not, and the king has refused to listen to our grievances.” I shook my head and indicated ahead of us. “There will be time for discussion of politics later, I assure you. This is our destination, I assume.”

  Ahead of us I could see a company of burly soldiers surrounding a stout brick building. Every third man was turned inward, facing the stout warehouse. All had muskets shouldered, with bayonets fixed. Outside the line of soldiers an angry crowd stood, hurling insults and snowballs at the soldiers, who stoically accepted the abuse.

  Seeing our approach, the soldiers lowered their muskets and, using the tips of their bayonets, forced the angry crowd back to allow our small column through. Moving to the wall of the warehouse, I dismounted. Turning around, I saw two red-coated officers waiting. Upon seeing my companion, they saluted.

  Dismounting, Captain André removed his glove and returned the salute, then turned to me. “Sir, may I present Captain MacCloud of the Third Company of the Coldstream Guards, and Lieutenant William Pitcairn of the Second Royal Marines.”

  Shaking the men’s hands in turn, I replied, “Gentlemen. Captain Sean Tillerson, Fourth Pennsylvania Rifles. My lieutenant is Jonathan Tur
ley of the Continental Marines.” I hesitated for a moment, then closely regarding the Royal Marine, I asked, “Tell me, sir. Are you Major John Pitcairn’s son?”

  The young man nodded gravely. “I am, sir.”

  “Your father was a good man. It grieved us greatly when we learned he had fallen at Bunker Hill.” I offered a hand again to the young man. “Please accept the deepest condolences on behalf of myself and the Pennsylvania Regiments.”

  The young Marine accepted my hand with a firm grip and replied curtly, “I thank you, sir.”

  The captain next to him spoke, his voice thick with the accent of his homeland in the Scottish Highlands, “Sir. Allow me to bring you up to date on the situation.”

  I nodded, took off my tricorn, and rubbed my head. I glanced at the sky, noting that it had clouded over again, the crystal blue winter sky now sleet grey and darkening fast. The wind was starting to pick up, biting through our clothing.

  The Scotsman began to speak, in a firm, matter-of-fact tone, “Yesterday eve, a couple of the lads on patrol noticed some strange activity at this warehouse. Given the nature of the contents, and the risk of rebel sabotage, we’d been keeping a close watch on it.” He gestured at the main door, a sturdy construction of oak and iron. I couldn’t help but notice that it was barred from the outside, and the bars were chained together. All the high windows were boarded up and sturdily locked. I frowned at this and turned my attention back to the officer. He continued, “Our private soldiers reported seeing strange goings on. Green lights and screaming, and a wagon being loaded by unknown persons.” The man scowled, and continued, “One of the soldiers ran for their corporal, and the other stayed to watch. When the corporal returned, the private soldier was gone, as was the wagon and the men loading it. The corporal took his man to investigate, believing that there was thieving in progress. They entered and were attacked.” He glanced uneasily at the building. “The private soldier was knocked down and dragged screaming into the darkness. The corporal managed to make his way to the door, where he summoned help.”

  Lieutenant Pitcairn spoke, picking up the story where the Army officer had stopped, “I was detailed to respond to any sabotage or Rebel activities inside the city. We came flying with a dozen men.” He glared at the building as if daring the bricks themselves to defy him, and continued, “Less than a dozen steps inside, we were attacked by…something. They looked like men, but weren’t. Their flesh was cold, and their eyes black as the pits of hell.”

  He looked back at me with hard eyes, and I felt a chill in my spine. I slowly nodded. “Aye. We know the creatures of which you speak.”

  I looked at Lieutenant Turley, who said somberly, “We encountered similar creatures ourselves, and also lost men.”

  Captain McCloud replied flatly, “We lost seven in a matter of seconds. Nearly the entire patrol, gone. The survivors pulled back, and we secured the entrance and called Lord Howe for assistance. By a twist of fate, here you are, less than a day later.”

  With a sidelong look at Captain André, I commented, “Perhaps not by fate. It seems our commanders are prepared for this.” The young man nodded his head thoughtfully, but said nothing.

  Lieutenant Pitcairn spoke, the deep anger again coming through in his voice, “Very good, sir. Shall we proceed?”

  “Indeed we shall, Lieutenant.” I turned to the Marines and the two remaining riflemen. “Sergeant Armistead.”

  The big man turned and replied, “Yes, sir?”

  “Prepare the men for action. Close quarters, no long firearms.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant turned to the Marines and began to issue orders in his customary coarse language. Satisfied that the Marines were preparing, I turned back to Lieutenant Pitcairn, who was loosing his saber in its scabbard.

  I raised an eyebrow, and said, “Lieutenant, given the loss of your men, no one will fault you if sit this one out.”

  “And let a group of Rebel soldiers into a warehouse full of powder and war supplies? I think not, sir. We have our orders.” The man paused, then added, “Additionally, I have a disagreement with these…things…that killed my men.” He turned and, reaching over to a nearby horse, retrieved a finely made dagger. He unsheathed it, checked the blade, placed it back into the scabbard, and said firmly, “I’m coming in with you.”

  I nodded and replied, “I thank you, sir. Another blade will be much appreciated.” I hesitated, then added, “We found, through misfortune, that the only way to stop the creatures is with a shot or blade to the head.” I grimaced, remembering the feel of my blade entering the creature’s chest and hearing its howls as it tried to pull me in closer to its teeth. I looked at the young man and stated firmly, “Keep that dagger close to hand, Lieutenant.”

  The young Marine nodded. I then turned to check on my men. They had stacked their muskets and drawn other weapons from their clothing. One bore a short club with iron spikes protruding from it. Another man had a series of forged iron rings that covered his knuckles, with short, sharp pieces of metal protruding like claws. The two Hessians each carried a saber, and a short, wicked-looking sword in their other hand. The remainder of the men were all variously armed with other brutish objects intended to be used in close quarters. Tomahawks, machetes, and frontier knives all supplemented the cutlasses each Marine carried. Sergeant Armistead had organized them into three groups: two groups of three men, one group of two. Every third man held a small, heavily shielded iron lantern.

  The big sergeant spoke in his deep voice, “We’ll move in groups. No men alone, and we watch each other’s backs. Captain, you’ll take this group.” He gestured to the two Hessians and the quiet lad who’d been arrested for hitting an Englishman’s horse. Armistead continued, quickly setting Lieutenant Turley with the second group, and himself into the third. Lieutenant Pitcairn watched silently, then came and stood by my side and asked simply, “Where shall you have me, sir?”

  I considered this for a moment, then spoke to Sergeant Armistead, “Armistead, I’ll have the lieutenant with you. He’s a battle tested Marine, and his father…”

  Armistead nodded, waving me to silence, “Aye. I knew his father. A good man, he was.” He gestured to the small group. “We’d be honored, sir.”

  With a wordless nod, the British officer moved to the small group and unsheathed his sword. With a rapid glance at the men to satisfy myself they were ready, I checked the cock on the pistol tucked into my belt, then drew my saber.

  Captain André gestured at the guards near the door, and the men began to work the chains off the massive door bars.

  As they did, André said to me in a low tone, “Use utmost caution, sir. Finding the man in black is of the highest importance. He is the key to all of this.” He paused and added, “If you find it impossible to take him alive, removing him as a threat will suffice.” He gestured to the soldiers standing guard nearby. “I shall await your return, Captain.”

  I nodded to the man and turned to the massive doors, which were swinging open. Beyond them, the inky blackness of the warehouse waited. I hefted my saber and said firmly, “Follow me.” Without hesitation, I strode into the darkness.

  As I advanced, I could see there was no light but what was filtering in from outside the warehouse, from behind us and from the cracks in the boarded windows high above. Stacks of crates, boxes, and various other items shrouded in the darkness stretched toward the ceiling, leaving us in a narrow pathway. There was no sound, aside from our bootheels tapping on the worn floorboards. Another dozen paces in, and we came to a junction. The path stretched into the darkness off to our left and right.

  From behind me I could hear Lieutenant Pitcairn whisper, “Careful, Captain. This is where they attacked us.” I reached back and, taking a lantern from the nearest man, I swung the dim beam straight ahead. It revealed a very normal appearing pathway leading into the darkness among the various items. I then carefully moved the light to the left and right passages, then back to the front. Something caught my eye, and I kn
elt to examine the floor. In front of my boots was a large, dark stain, and the boards were very deeply scored, as if struck repeatedly by a sword or an axe.

  I looked back up, right into the black eyes and pale face of one of the dead men. It shrieked and lunged at me, and then things began to happen very quickly. I swung the lantern at the beast, its heavy iron case cracking into the side of the thing’s head. I could hear the sickening crunch as the jawbone broke, and it stumbled. This gave me time to deftly slide back and adjust my footing, and with a short, sharp thrust with my saber, I speared the beast through its left eye. It fell to its knees, then onto its face, twitching. Raising the light, I rapidly swung it in front of me, scanning for more. Hearing a commotion behind me, I whirled. As I did, I saw shadowy shapes leaping off the tops of the stacks of crates, shrieking as they fell onto the men below.

  The next few moments were a confused, terrifying melee. The flashing of blades, the screams of the beasts, the wildly flickering lights of the stout iron lanterns, the hoarse shouting of the men, and the horrible, meaty noises of weapons striking flesh. The fighting was up close, savage, and in what felt like seconds, over. Silence once again descended on the warehouse.

  I lowered my blade, raised the lamp, and called out in a steadier voice than I felt, “Lads, sound off.”

  In the dim, dancing light, the men called out, and Sergeant Armistead’s voice came from the rear, “Two gone, sir. Haskins and Linden.” I moved the line of men back. Haskin’s body was wrapped around one of the beasts. Its teeth were wet with his lifeblood, and his arms were wrapped around it, his frontier knife dug deeply into the base of the creature’s skull. I pulled the beast off of him, and knelt and gently closed his eyes.

  Lieutenant Pitcairn’s voice came from next to me. His tone was somber. “Did you know him well?”

  I nodded and replied distantly, “Aye. He mustered into the company in seventy-five with me. His farm adjoins mine. His wife makes a cherry cobbler that is talked about all the way to Lancastertown.” I paused and added, “Her name is Sarah, and his boys are Jonathan, George, and William.” I wiped my face with the back of my glove and stood, regarding the still body for a moment, then turned to the two lieutenants. Their faces were drawn and tense. As I started to speak, I realized I could see them both clearly. Perplexed, I stopped and looked around. I noticed a sickly green light coming from deeper in the warehouse.